


Breaking Boundries

by patriarchalparadigm



Series: Book One [1]
Category: DreamSMP, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bounty Hunters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemy Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Quests, Romantic Soulmates, Sorcerers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriarchalparadigm/pseuds/patriarchalparadigm
Summary: Dream is a ruthless bounty hunter, tasked to travel the lands for Technoblade (the king of L'manberg), and kill anyone who dares to threaten his reign. George is the next big threat, a tiny sorcerer who managed the escape the king's clutches. However, this bounty is different. When Dream is tasked to bring George back ALIVE to the king, traveling all those miles alone with the fugitive uncovers some secrets and their true fate is brought to the surface.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Book One [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202429
Kudos: 8





	1. Light Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, this originally started for fun because I'm an English major and I just like to write stories but then it got super long and intricate so I thought I might share it. 
> 
> For the setting think MIddle Earth mixed with L'manberg. Super old-timey but modern for instance Inns with full-functioning showers and stuff.

George looked at the sketch of himself reflected on the post in the center of town. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d seen his wanted poster because he had seen it before on the random rock or watch post but here in the town nearest his home seemed to hit George the hardest. The streets were dark, however, illuminated by the casual torchlight but dead in the center it was bright and George reached up, his features cloaked by his hood, and tore the poster down. 

He couldn’t stand to be a fugitive here, near the meadows, near his freedom. Loud cackles filled the air and George hunched over pulling his hood tighter he retreated into the shadows of the alleyway. He had to be more careful, but he also couldn’t keep living in the woods. His limbs ached from chopping and handling wood for fires, his feet throbbed from carrying him many miles on untamed paths, and his stomach void of any food growled constantly, but fear of showing his face pushed him to eat berries and leaves for weeks on end until he could no longer stand it. He was so close to the mushroom valley, the place he was born, and this tiny break would push him forward. He made eyes at the entrance of the inn, warm and brightly lit, a dangerous safe-haven. 

“I’ll just hide my face,” George murmurs to himself, his breath catching in his throat, “I’ll just book a room quickly, and hide my face,” and those few words of encouragement pushed him towards the brightly lit inn. His tired feet stumbling on the rocks and his hands trembling terribly from the cold. 

George shoved forward, the door creaking open, one hand clutching his hood over his face and the other clutching the last of his money in this hand, a couple of coins split evenly would amount to a one-night stay and a basket of bread. 

“How can I help you?” A cheery elf called to him, her cheeks rosy despite the warm weather inside. George ignored her for a beat, scanning the rambunctious crowd, searching for any traveler with the telltale sign of a bounty hunter. A dark purple coat, especially if they’re king sent. A sword readied and poised at their hip, their fingers usually never leaving the handle. And for a moment as George scanned he realized no eyes were on him, everyone seemed to be completely entranced in their own conversations. He began to relax if only a little, turning back to the elf just before she began to ask again. 

He laid all his money out on the table, “I’ll take one room and a basket of bread.” he stumbled out, his teeth chattering as his body adjusted to the normal temperature of the inn. The elf nods quickly, taking his money and sliding a key across the table towards him. 

“Upstairs on the left,” she smiles, George nods. 

The room she gave him was small, with one window, a side table, a coat hanger, and a thin cot. George immediately shut and shoved the coat hanger under the door handle. He laid the basket of bread on the side table before he hastily approached the window taking off his cloak and coving it wholly. He couldn’t take any chances and he would probably only eat for a minute, catch his breath before he would be off again but having the window covered eased his nerves. 

George sat down on the bed, his feet practically praising him at their sweet relief, and his stomach calming its voice after he ate a loaf and a half. He packaged the rest of the bread up for later, sealing it safely in his little tote. It wasn’t much but it would last a couple of days if he could ration it out. But that was the least of his worries as he laid back down on the incredibly thin mattress he began to feel it again, that tugging, tingling, sensation in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists, willing the sensation to stop before it spread to his chest, and unleashed what he had been stuffing down since he left the castle. It was the same feeling he felt when it happened, an unspeakable event because it cost him his job, as a young servant boy in Technoblades castle, and it nearly cost him his life as he rotted away in the dungeons. 

George couldn’t begin to understand why Techno had reacted to him the way he had that day, a surprised, almost scared look on his face as he cast his knights on George and they dragged him deep into the castle where he was lost and forgotten about. And if it hadn’t had been for Sapnap, he would have died down there, hungry, confused, and with a tingling in his fingertips. 

He doesn’t like to think of that day, and what happened because that was the day he started to run and from that day forward he never stopped running and he didn’t know when he would ever be safe again. But his eyelids grew heavy, and his bones seemed to sink deep into the relatively soft surface and despite his previous plan to get out and on the road as soon as possible he found himself closing his eyes and letting the darkness consume him. 

* * *

Dream had been waiting at the Prancing Pony Inn for three days and was presently surprised to have the jump on his bounty. Technoblade had dispatched him in a hurry, pulling him from a job in the Misty Mountains and ushering him to The Meadows. It took him a little over a month to get here on horseback, ahead of his bounty and he was surprised to find that he wasn’t that hard to catch. He huffed a breath, taking his eyes away from the inn doors, and pulling Techno’s letter from his pocket, re-reading the lines once more as to the full extent of his job. 

_Dream,_

_I write to you of the utmost urgency regarding an impending job that needs your immediate attention. A powerful sorcerer has escaped the castle grounds and fled towards The Meadows. This is the most important job you have been tasked with henceforth and therefore will require your best skills, physically, and mentally. The sorcerer is not to be trifled with, he will try to manipulate you, entrance you, and bring you onto his side. YOU MUST NOT GIVE INTO HIM. He is strong, but will not look it. Do not be fooled._

_Bring him back alive. The bounty is below._

_Sincerely,_

_King Technoblade_

**Name: George**

**Age: 18**

**Features: Brown hair, brown eyes, sharp facial structure, most likely in servant clothes with a brown worn cloak.**

**Crime: Acts against the crown, a threat to the throne**

**Status: Most likely heading to the Mushroom Valley (his home)**

**Report: Bring him back to L’manberg ALIVE and UNHARMED; he is for the king to deal with.**

**Notes: Powerful sorcerer; do not underestimate him**

Dream scoffed at the words, powerful sorcerer. Magic wasn’t outlawed in the lands just very uncommon. Most wizards stayed away from the major lands, using their magic for farming, or petty hobbies, it was a dying custom. But what Dream can’t understand is why this powerful sorcerer had not tried better to escape him. Did he not think Techno would send out a bounty for his arrest? Did he not think that he would also send his best bounty hunter after his most superior bounty? And all these questions lead Dream to wonder why George hadn’t used magic to hide himself or his tracks. It was all so easy even being a month behind to find Georges’s little camps, his burnt-out fires, and his leftover food traps. The sorcerer had left a clear path right to the inn as Dream judged by the lessening food traps and the small-sized fires that George had to stop at an actual town soon or he would die. And he didn't understand why the wizard hadn’t magically grown crops or conjured up a cooked chicken to eat but instead drove himself into starvation. These questions plagued him as he waited, the easiest part of the job, for a brown-haired boy slightly younger than him to stumble into the inn. And that very next day, he did. 

Dream had positioned himself at the back-most table. Diagonal from the door but hidden in the smaller crux of a corner so that from the front counter his position merely looked like a darkened shadow. Around midnight the inn got especially rowdy, as it did every night and Dream watched on rather blankly as the same inhabitants drank until it came back up and then drank some more. And he waited, his eyes trained on the thick wooden door until it opened finally to reveal someone other than a sloppy drunk, to reveal George. 

Dream wasn’t sure at first, but he trusted his instincts telling him that George would show up here, the inn closest to his home. So when a brown-haired, brown-eyed, man entered The Prancing Pony Dream’s hairs stood on end. His hand flew to the handle of his sword, his foot shifting slightly and bringing his chair further away from the table. A prepared stance. But the more Dream had eyes on his bounty the more confused he got. 

George was lanky, and his clothes were tattered. One look and you could tell he was a servant, his black cloak a little too short and his shoes worn down from excessive use. Dream also examined his face, his eyes darting widely around the room and bouncing from table to table as he undoubtedly looked for someone like Dream. He shrank back into the shadows, ever so slightly as Georges’s gaze passed over his dark corner and he was shocked if only a little to see the absolute fear in this powerful sorcerer’s eyes. It steeled him for a moment, capturing him frozen in his chair until George looked away, and Dream sucked in a breath. 

“Entrancing,” he muttered, rolling over the words in Techno’s letter. George may entrance him, and it was certainly working. This man didn’t seem like he had the strength to lift a sword let alone cast a spell. But that was the trick wasn’t it, his weak-looking demeanor a thin mask hiding his all-powerful being. 

Dream was also right about the hunger, as he watched George pay for a room and a basket of bread before he quickly retreated up the creaky stairs. Dream sat for a couple of minutes, a usual ritual when he was one-step-ahead, watching his victim from afar it is always best to sit back, let them get comfortable, and then you strike. And George was no different, so he sat back and waited a little bit more. 

* * *

George woke with a start, into complete darkness and he panicked at the sight. He sat up and braced himself but nothing came, and then he remembered he was in the inn. He was slightly angry with himself as he hadn’t planned to sleep into the morning but he was silently thankful for one peaceful night. He didn’t however, didn’t allow himself a peaceful morning as he scrambled to pack up his things, ripping down his cloak from the window and exiting the inn as soon as possible. And by mid-day, he was so deep in the woods he could barely see the path anymore, but this is how he knew he was close to home, close to the valley and out of the king’s range. 

It felt good to him, finally to be back on the wooded path, away from civilization, and to head away from overcrowded villages eased his pain. But with the narrowing path, came no carriages and no people alike, and when George approached the first open area he had seen since he left he was surprised to see a cloaked figure standing square in the middle. 

“Hello!” the figure called as George approached, and his footsteps immediately slowed to a stop. He didn’t feel safe anymore, or close to home, he felt scared. “I didn’t mean to startle you!” 

George inched closer and noticed how friendly the strangers' features were, his long blonde hair shoulder length and tossed in curls, framing his small smile but his eyes, green and sparkling reflected danger and violence. 

“My name's Dream!,” the stranger steps forward, hand outstretched towards him, “What's yours, friend?” 

George’s throat seized up, he knew something was wrong yet he opened his mouth anyway, hope to linger on his tongue, “G-George,” 

Dream smiled, a crooked grin, and at that moment George's feet collided with the edge of the circle, his ankles seized together and his legs snapped from underneath him, a trap. He fell to the leafy ground with a thud and then his body was dragged, sliding across the ground until it collided with the hunter’s feet. George opened his eyes and there stood the mysterious stranger, hovering above him, his smile finally reaching the viciousness in his eyes, “Gotcha,” 

George’s whole reality came crashing down, he had been caught, actually caught. No more running, no more freedom in the distance, he was done for. And he would most likely be killed once he arrived back at the castle, Techo couldn’t execute him for using magic, but he could for escaping the dungeons. 

“No,” he twists his eyes shut, “No, no, no, no,” George struggles against the restraints, “ _Pleaseee…”_ he cries. 

“Stop,” Dream commands, his hands coming down like vice grips on both of George's wrists. He wretches his eyes open, the hunter’s figure a little too close for comfort as he snaps what seems to be iron cuffs into place, fortifying his hands completely. “You aren’t going any further, I am returning you back to L’manberg, from there the King will deal with you,” 

George's heart breaks, shock, fear, and an overwhelming sense of dread resurface in the pit of his stomach. Dream doesn’t seem to care, grabbing George by the chain linking his wrists, and pulling him to his feet. “Up,” 

George stumbled, his feet still tied and his knees weak. He watched wordlessly as Dream stooped to the ground and untied his feet, depositing the extra rope in his cloak pocket. The hunter searched him for any weapons and rummaged his satchel. George regarded him, as he was much more handsome then the angry, evil bounty hunter he imagined snatching him in his dreams. His robes were of royal caliber, clearly, one of the king's guard, and the way with which he treated George like no more than an object, his for the taking, resonated with him that the hunter had probably done this a thousand times. Clearly, mercy was not in his favor. 

Dream took George's hatchet and pocket knife but he left his bread in the cloth George had previously wrapped it in and stuffed it back in his satchel. He looked down at him, his tall frame towering over George where he stood, “I’m confiscating your weapons, but I’m letting you keep your food, I wouldn’t usually but it’s a long journey back and King Technoblade said to bring you back alive and unharmed.” George’s stomach dropped, what on earth did Techno have planned for him? He was just a boy, just turned 18, and his life was already over. 

“Come here,” the hunter beckoned him, having thrown George’s satchel over his own shoulder. George shuffled slightly to him, relieved his legs moved without his body collapsing. He pulled George closer by his cuffs, “These are magical cuffs, don’t think about trying anything to escape,” he looped a rope through the center link and stretched it out before he tied it to his sheaf. “And you’ll be connected to me for the entire trip,” he made eye contact with George again, piercing and serious, his finger lining the thick of the rope, “magical rope as well, so don’t think about breaking it,” 

George blinked slowly, his head craning ever so slightly a wondrously stupid look on his face. Who exactly did this hunter, who did _Dream_ think he was? He couldn’t perform spells or conjure up weapons, he couldn’t even make himself food. The only time he used magic was that day with Sap and he’s been in pain ever since. But Dream didn’t bat an eye, he merely tugged on George’s rope and pulled him forward, back the way he came and on towards Techno’s castle. 

* * *

Dream made his way back past the tavern and to his horse which he had stashed in a nearby farmers’ stable, for a pretty penny too, but he couldn’t just leave it out in the open either not with the encroaching winter storms. The walk wasn’t that long from where he caught the sorcerer but every once in a while Dream felt the rope tug, slowing his pace and he glanced back to see George, head down, hands clenched, utterly pitiful. He looked put out, not angry or mad just sullen. This was different for Dream, leading a prisoner away, he never had time to look at their sunken faces for too long before he sliced a sword through their chest. So seeing George caught, with no immediate relief was _strange_. It tugged on some foreign emotion Dream has not dealt with in a long time. He felt sympathy, and it would have grown in his chest until it became an actual recurring problem but he thought back to Techno’s letter, and he didn’t feel any remorse. 

Dream coaxed his horse to the front of the barn and when he exited he was surprised to find George looking up at him, well more at his horse, a sense of relief clearly palpable on his face. Dream realized then that the sorcerer had traveled on foot all this way and was most likely dreading the trek back on foot as well. It would have been endearing if he wasn’t a dirty criminal. 

Dream fastens all their supplies to the horse’s saddle and then turns back to George, “I’m going to lift you on,” he warns, George doesn’t make any signs of protest (not like Dream would care) so he scoops the much smaller man by his armpits and hoists him onto the upper part of the saddle. Dream follows suit, positioning himself right behind his prisoner so that he could keep an eye on them better. 

“We’ll camp at dawn,” Dream says, just as the horse takes off and he hopes George can hear him over the galloping hooves. He gives no indication that he had even heard Dream, and Dream shouldn’t care, so he doesn’t. 

George’s eyes trained on the vast sloping landscape of the meadows, zipping by as Dream clutches the reins and pushes on. He mourns the hilly paths, the signs of his home, a place he hasn’t seen in years. He had been so close and the realization of that amongst his impending death once he reached the castle is enough to push out all hope he once had. 

Despite his demeanor, they travel on. The meadows turning into the thick forest and then flattening out into grasslands. When the sun began to set, Dream slowed down, rearing off towards a rocky cave. He brought the horse to a grinding stop, hoping off in one clean sweep. George sat in waiting, not much he could do with his hands cuffed, not that he was motivated to do anything else but keep his eyes open. 

Dreams eyes darted from the cave and back to George, “You’re going to have to go in with me, I have to check it out,” 

George blinks down at him, and he doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs him under his armpits once more and drags him down. Dream doesn’t hesitate to enter the cave, pulling his sword from its holder and readying it. George shuffles his feet, not so sure his captor wouldn’t just throw him to the monsters that dwell within. 

“Come on,” Dream beacons and George realized he had been standing still holding Dream outside the cave. He slowly stepped forward, and the hunter moved on. The more they shuffled into the cave the darker it got. He felt Dream reach back and grab the links between his cuffs as the last of the light slipped away. “Stay close,” he whispers. 

George felt Dream rustle around, bending down and scraping something across the stone floor, and then they were illuminated with light. A torch George thought, smart. With the much-needed light they, or Dream really, was able to easily scope out the cave and besides the abandoned web of a spider, lost sword, chest plate, or random item it was wholly empty. 

“Yeah, we’ll camp here.” Dream stated, dropping his hand from around his cuffs. George just stared at him, he didn’t have much say. He followed his captor around as he prepared their camp, pulling the horse into the cave and fastening it down. Finding scatterings of firewood and assembling a campfire for them. Laying out their sleeping covers, Dreams so much nicer than George’s which was whatever Sapnap stole from the servant’s quarters. 

George couldn’t bear to stand anymore, his feet still aching horribly so as Dream stoked the fire, willing it to catch on George sat on the cot the hunter had made for him pulling his legs to his chest and laying his head on top of his knees. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream, he wanted to thrash about trying to break free of these chains but he just didn’t have the will to do any more than stare at the growing flames and cry. 

As George thought over today’s events, how he had been so close only to be caught in the clearing that would grant him his freedom, tears welled up in his eyes. He tried to stop them but the embarrassment of crying in front of Dream was the farthest thought from his mind. The fear that rotted him at what Techno would do to him when he got back settled so deep in his stomach it was unbearable to think about. He had heard stories of how Techno treated his prisoners, the man who hated any form of Government only taking his position of power for the guttural grip it contained over the common folk. That kind of man had no sympathy. 

“Here,” Dream’s body blocked George’s view of the fire, pulling him from his thoughts. He didn’t dare look up, “You should eat,” Dream continued, dropping George’s wrapped bread at his feet and then the hunter retreaded back to his side of the fire and sat. 

George wanted to ignore it, to protest in any small way he could but his grumbling stomach gave in. He pulled down his sleeves and wiped his dampened cheeks, and then he slowly unwrapped his meal. He was rather surprised to see along with half a loaf was two strips of dried meat. 

He chanced a look at Dream, whose eyes regarded him warily. The hunter’s own plate contained the same meat that had been with George’s and the other half of the loaf. He couldn’t fathom why Dream was sharing his food. He had the bread at least for a couple of days, even if Dream took his share, but overall he shouldn’t be complaining. This was good meat, capital meat, and his stomach was grateful for it. So they ate in silence, George enjoying his first fulfilling meal in months and Dream watching the embers burn and occasionally eating the dried food. And Deam noticed how George couldn’t stop crying once he started, or how after he handed back his empty bowl he avoided eye contact because of his tears, or how as he lay down to sleep that night the tears came harder than ever, he didn’t say anything. 

The days pass mostly like that for the better part of a week. George followed Dream because that’s really all he could do. They didn’t talk, albeit the occasional comment or warning from Dream. They passed one other bounty hunter halfway into the week and George couldn’t hide his palpable fear. As horrible as it was being held captive, Dream wasn’t as bad as he seemed and the thought of being passed off to someone who didn’t feed him, or lay out his cot, or let him ride on the horse as opposed to beside it, or let him warm up by the fire was absolutely terrifying. 

But like everything else Dream handled the situation with ease. He simply pulled out George’s bounty, apparently, a personal letter from Techno himself and the hunter backed down, passed them, and continued on his way. 

At the end of the week, George’s mood improved slightly. He wasn’t exactly hopping and skipping but he didn’t feel so hopeless anymore. It just made him feel worse, to wallow in self-pity because eventually, he learned he couldn’t change his fate and Dream wasn’t that bad. He could at least go without crying himself to sleep every night. Essentially, he accepted his fate, because so far it wasn’t that bad. 

But mostly George regarded Dream. The hunter was obviously skilled both in conversation and in combat. He was a quick thinker, turning puzzling situations into minor inconveniences in mere seconds. He was also strikingly handsome. Like a wayward warrior and if he hadn’t been sent to hunt George down and return him to his death he might think of him as a leader of some sort. 

But George grew tired of studying Dream’s appearance or personality and he grew restless watching every night as Dream set up the camp by himself, gathering materials and food by himself when George was perfectly capable of helping out. So on the 7th night, he asked to help. 

Dream was skinning a rabbit he had pierced with a bow earlier while also taking breaks to build the fire and layout their cots. It was exhausting watching him teeter back and forth, beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, and he just had to ask. He was perfectly capable of doing a minor task such as laying out the cots or stoking the fire, even in cuffs. 

“I can-” George starts, and Dream’s head snaps in his direction. He supposed it might have been surprising since he hadn’t spoken since the first day. George cleared his throat and started again, “I can help, if-if you want. You don’t have to do it alone...” his voice trails off, under Dream’s scrutinizing gaze he felt a little uncomfortable. 

The hunter didn’t waiver, his shocked expression turning stoic in a matter of seconds. And then he turned away from George, his hands going back to preparing the meat, “No,” he speaks, finality in his tone. George is taken aback, but only slightly. He nods once in understanding, not like Dream could see him anyway and he sits back down on his blankets. What did he honestly think? He’s a criminal in Dream’s eyes, not a partner or a friend. He’s simple cargo, why would he help? He stares on towards the fire, willing himself not to cry over a simple rejection when Dream breaks the ongoing silence. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, and this time George’s head snaps in _his_ direction. Dream’s eyes never leave the flames, “for offering,” 

George didn’t say anything, his feelings were still just a little hurt. He had become to expect something in the quiet companionship they shared. But this interaction reminded him of his place. He’s just a prisoner and Dream was his captor. Even if he thanked him. 

They shelled out dinner that night, one whole rabbit each and the rest of George’s bread. They weren’t in a cave tonight, dawn reaching them while they were tracking through a dense oak forest. The weather had gotten colder, the wind picking up, and the first night without the stone walls as a defense hit George like a brick. 

His hands were shaking, trapped against the cold metal of the cuffs they ceased to retain any heat. His clothes weren’t any protection either, a paper-thin cloak and the trappings of the lower servant class. He scooted closer to fire, the chains clinking against his shaking wrists. His knees knocking together. 

A thud sounds to his left and George lifts his gaze from the fire to see Dream laying out his own cot right next to him. George immediately gets up to move, figuring if Dream was laying out his cot on this side he must want to sleep here. 

But a sturdy hand on his shoulder stops his movements, “No,” Dream pushes him back down to a seated position, “You’re sleeping in my cot,” 

George scrunched his eyebrows, “What?” 

“You’re freezing to death,” Dream shakes his head like the solution was obvious, “You’ll take my cot, it’s thicker and warmer, and I’ll sleep in yours,” 

“It’s fine,” George protested because if he could protest anything it was his own cot. 

“No it’s not,” he argued, “You’re visibly shaking, your clothes are rail thin offering you no protecting, and I can’t have you dying from hypothermia.” It seemed more like an order than anything, he hated being pitied, even if his hands did shake constantly from the weather. 

George shook his head weakly, as Dream sat deciding for a minute, observing him before he shrugged off his thick cloak and then his coat beneath it, handing it to George. 

“It’s fine,” George whispers. 

“It’s not,” Dream steps forward and drapes the coat around his shoulders. George felt the warmth immediately. He shoved his hands inside the pockets, the fabric draping over his small malnourished body like a blanket. George still felt bad, felt pitted, as he watched Dream dress back in his cloak, pulling it tighter around himself probably feeling the loss of the extra layer. 

“If I have your coat,” George tried, as Dream set out Georges cot on his side of the fire, “I can sleep in my own cot,” 

“George,” Dream turns, leveling with him, “I don’t know what angle you’re playing at but I’m not letting you freeze to death before I return you to Techno,” 

George sucks in a breath, the severity in Dreams eyes, the truth in his words once again reminded him of why Dream was being nice, sharing his food and the clothes off his back. George was to be returned to the king alive and unharmed. Kindness wasn’t Dream’s motive and he had to remind himself of that. 

* * *

Dream watched the stars through the patches of leaves in the forest bed. It’s already been a week and the journey was taking a toll on him. Hunting and gathering for one were fine, but two, without any outside help was a lot. He had never been tasked with taking a prisoner back to the kingdom alive, let alone unharmed. The most he’d done was carry the body of his bounty’s back to the kingdom, and even then dead bodies don’t need food, or sleep, or _coats_. George asked to help, the first time he heard his bounty’s voice up close and in the absence of fear was to ask Dream if he could help. He wanted to say yes, to lessen the load but that would mean untying George, almost partnering up with him and they had to maintain their roles. That was the most important part. 

On top of that, the weather had gotten significantly worse, and Dream tried to remember the caves he’d camped in on the way to the meadows but eventually, they ran out, and being out in the elements was just unavoidable. But what came with the elements, Dream had not expected. He didn’t miss how George cried himself to sleep every night, considering the fugitive went to bed far earlier than Dream as he always waited for the fire to burn completely out, he continuously caught the wet pained sobs just as George coaxed himself to sleep. It was sad, incredibly sad and Dream might have felt guilty but he reminded himself (as he had to keep doing) that it was an act, all an act and soon the crying stopped as the week waded on so it wasn’t much of an issue. That was until the cold. Dream had watched George shiver all morning, the shocks racking his body as the cold wind whipped around them as the horse pushed on. He noticed the way George’s hands shook while Dream collected firewood, and how George sat so close to the fire Dream thought his clothes might catch a stray ember. And he shook, violently and be damned Dream couldn’t take it anymore, he had to do something. 

His gaze fell back down to the servant boy, the fugitive, the powerful sorcerer, back down to George, and he felt his mouth twist ever so slightly at the end. George’s face, always pained in his sleep from whatever memories carried his dreams now looked somewhat peaceful. His face was shoved deep in the collar of Dream’s coat, and his hands were gripped slightly on the edge of his thick blanketed cot. He shouldn’t feel relieved, so he _tried_ not to. 

* * *

Dream’s coat was a lifesaver, and he was surprised he was able to keep it. George tried to give it back in the morning but the hunter waved him off, and George was more than thrilled, buttoning up the front and shoving his face into the collar. It gave him hope, as false as it was that maybe Dream wasn’t that terrible, and even though this was all leading to his death at the hands of Techno, and the hunter was only being nice because he had to, he should be able to enjoy his last weeks with Dream. Because Dream was keeping him alive, for the time being, and that sparked hope. 

* * *

“Fish!” George shouted. Dream tensed, the reins tugging jerkingly at his hips. 

“What?” He slowed the horse down to a stop. They were on the same wooded path they had been for days, a week and a half into their journey. 

“Fish!” George pointed, now able to use his hands to point at the river a ways off the path, “Food,” he turns, his face inches away from Dreams, puffs of warm breath hitting his cheek. 

Dream followed Goerge’s pointing fingers and saw just what he did. Fish, jumping so fast out of the stream they looked like flashing lights. Food indeed. 

“We don’t have to stop,” came George’s tentative voice, his head now angled back to the river. 

“Do you like fish?” Dream asks instead, and George nods. So Dream pulls the reins off the path and straight towards the river. 

They ate fish that night, one that George had caught to Dream’s surprise as it flopped out of the water and right at his feet. 

“I got one!” George bellowed, “Yes!” 

Dream wrinkled his brow, watching as the sorcerer jumped from foot to foot twirling the fish around in his hand. “Alright,” Dream prompted, “Drop it in the bag,” 

George smiled, big and wide, skipping over and dropping the fish on top of the three Dream had already caught. “I helped,” George whispered, watching the fish flop around in the sack. Dream didn’t say anything, just returned his gaze to his line in the water, willing his mouth not to twitch upward. 

He didn’t know what caused George’s sudden change in mood. Maybe he was trying a different tactic to try and trick Dream onto his side. If being depressed didn’t work then maybe being overly joyous would. It didn’t matter what the play was. Dream still found it harder and harder to not give in. It was trickery he knew but in another sense, it seems so real. He didn’t miss how George made sure Dream ate the fish that he caught, how he leans into the collar of Dream’s jacket when a particularly cold breeze passes by or how at night, still nested in Dream’s cot his features are calm and happy. Surely you can’t fake emotions in your sleep, but Dream couldn’t be sure. And George had committed crimes against the throne, he was a criminal, a fugitive. But it seemed to Dream like they were two different people. George the fugitive, and George the happy fish wrangler. And it was wrong, so wrong. He really shouldn’t think like this, but he does. 

* * *

George felt better, day by day. They were still rather far off from the castle and deep in the winter season which slowed their journey down quite considerably. Dream was stubborn, once he found a cave he didn’t want to leave, which is how they ended up staying two days in caves if they found them, and on the nights they were not so lucky they camped in the wilderness under the safety of the trees. But on those nights George got Dream’s cot, wordlessly set up on his side of the campfire and it made him smile. 

Two weeks into their journey the dynamic changed just ever so slightly. George sat in the grass plain watching Dream who stood a few feet away shoot his bow at unsuspecting rabbits. The rope they were tethered by stretched thin and tugging on his chains every time Dream moved an inch. It hurt, and late at night while he was turned away from Dream he would check under the cuffs only to see his wrists were badly bruised a dark purple and yellowish color. He didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, because it didn’t matter. But today they hurt especially bad. 

Dream reared back his bow, catching sight of a bushy-haired tail hopping quickly in the distance. George prepared himself for the snap, the tug on his wrists that would dig into his already purpling bruises. And it came suddenly, yanking the medal harshly and George couldn’t help tensing up, his fingers weakly gripping the rope for any kind of resistance. Dream noticed. 

“What’s wrong?” Dream returns to him quickly, looming over him and George hides his face in his knees. 

“It’s fine,” he answers because what could he say? He knows the cuffs can’t come off so he would just have to deal with the pain. But when Dream didn’t answer, his shadow still casting over George he looked up. 

Dream’s eyes were trained on George’s wrists, the cuffs had slid down and his wrist shone clearly, nasty colors standing out against the paleness of his skin. And George felt, for lack of a better word, embarrassed, because doesn’t he deserve pain, any kind, why would his captor care about his battered wrists. 

“We should get the game,” he stands, tearing his wrists from Dream’s gaze and walking farther into the empty field. He didn’t expect any change from Dream but he wasn’t unpleasantly surprised to notice how close the hunter stuck to him throughout the day so as not to create any tension on his wrists. How Dream also laid their cots closer together or how the next day the hunter would match George’s footsteps making sure he didn’t get too far ahead, didn’t tug too hard on the rope and it helped. The bruises would always be there and they would most certainly always hurt but at least Dream was more cautious now. 

It was the beginning of their third week when they came across another bounty hunter, three actually, with George’s wanted poster clutched in their hands. “Looks like you found our wizard boy,” the middle much heftier of the trio resounded as they made their way towards the pair, footprints dragging in the snow. 

George was scared, he tried not to show it though. This was the first time they had really faced more than the stray, polite, bounty hunter. Tipping their hat to Dream at finding such a prize like George first and then they would pass leaving them as quick as they came. This time though, George could sense the difference, they _wanted_ him. No matter what. It seemed Dream could sense it too, his hand coming to grip the sword handle as they approached. 

“Sorry boys, I’ve claimed him,” Dream pulled the horse to a stop, right at the hunter’s feet. 

“According to this,” the middle one pulled out George’s crumpled wanted poster. George looked away. “He’s free claim,” 

“Until he’s claimed,” Dream swings a leg over the middle of the horse, hopping off in one clean jump and landing right in front of the trio. Dream towered over the three men, and they stumbled ever so slightly back a step. The snow crowded around them, the cliffs creating a cocoon surrounding them and George saw, still sitting on the horse at a higher advantage point from Dream, a figure shuffling behind the trees, snow crinkling where another fourth bounty hunter stood in wait. 

“Dream!” George shouted, his voice filled with panic, his hands pointing at the crowded tree-line just as an arrow shot through the wind and towards the bounty hunter. Dream ducked just in time, the arrow flying past the tip of his head. The three hunters take this opportunity to charge in one swift moment. The horse stirs, excited by the commotion, bucking heavigly. George has just enough time to unhook their belongings before it bucks him off and he lands in the snow in a heap their bags piled on top of him. He collects himself, moving away from the commotion he watches on in horror as they stab at him, barely missing or nicking ever so slightly at his arm or shoulder. They had realized Dream was trapped, tethered to George by the rope and they used that to their advantage. Staying just out of reach and lunging once the archer distracted Dream with an arrow and it was working. They wore him down, taking the piss out of his stamina. Dream swayed on his feet, pulling all his efforts forward but it wasn’t enough, not with him being tethered, and not with the archer. George couldn’t stand it, to sit by and watch Dream struggle, so he did the only discernible thing he could think of which was to untie the rope. Dream said he couldn’t break it but he needed to, he wanted to help. He waited as long as he could, watching Dream hold them off in spurts, but when an arrow struck Dream in the shoulder, forcing him to his knees George took action. 

His fingers worked quickly on the knot, he thought the rope would burn maybe as it was magical and probably could only be undone by Dream but it didn’t. It came undone just as easily as Dream had tied it and George wretched it off, giving the skilled hunter just the leverage he needed. Dream pushed forward immediately, the rope no longer holding him back. He stabbed the first man with ease, and dodging a string of arrows he cut the second one across the neck, blood littering the snow around him and the third, wrecked with fear, ran. Dream didn’t chase him, and they both watched as the third hunter caught up with the archer hidden in the trees and they both fled deeper into the forest. They stood in silence for a beat, watching them retreat, watching the snow gather on the ground until Dream broke it. 

“Shit,” Dream cursed, his hand clutched around the arrow in his shoulder. It looked painful, and George winced as Dream grabbed it tightly and pulled it out. He grunted in pain, George looked away. He couldn’t bear to see it, to see Dream in pain. He heard more grunts, and then silence. 

“You cut the rope,” came Dream’s rough voice, thick with pain. George looked back, he saw the hunter on his knees, one hand clutching his open wound and one fingering the rope, mostly covered by the heavy snowfall. 

“I untied it yes,” he mumbles, guilt setting deep in his throat. 

“Don’t be smart, George,” Dream cuts, he stands now, his eyes emotionless. Dream looked now to George much like the warrior who would work for Techno. Blonde hair settling in dirty waves right above his shoulders, stony expression, and bright green eyes, cutting into George and demanding an answer. The snow fell around them quite blizzard-like and George shivered, although he wasn’t entirely sure it was from the cold. 

The sorcerer takes a deep breath, he hadn’t done anything wrong. He had helped. “I wanted to help, he-he shot you,” 

“Can you break the cuffs?” Dream asks, George blinks at him. He looks down at the iron cuffs, little symbols carved into the metal. He wondered if he could break them? But he honestly didn’t want to try. When he doesn’t answer after a while Dream steps forward, good hand tentatively reaching for George’s and turning over his palms, examining them. “It didn’t burn you?” Dream whispers, his calloused fingers running ever so slightly over the tips of George’s own fingers. 

“No,” 

“Can you break the cuffs?” he asks again and it’s a question George didn’t have the answer to. 

“I don’t know,” is what he ends up saying, eyes boring into Dream’s, drinking in his confused expression. “I’ve never used magic, besides-uh-besides that one time…”

Dream crinkles his brow, shaking his head, “You used magic to break the rope, George,” 

“What?” 

“Look!” Dream yelled, his voice echoing off the snow-covered cliffs, George flinched. He stood shakingly to his feet, tentatively following Dream as he made his way back to the tiny clearing. Dream dropped to his knees, his hands dusting the ground until he found the rope. He holds it out to George before he swiftly ties it in a knot, steeling himself before he begins to undo it. George watches in wonder as the rope begins to glow, red hot. Dream tries to hold on, his face twisting in pain, he pushes on undoing the knot as fast as he can but the rope just glows brighter, burning his skin. 

“Dream,” George whispers, willing it to stop. Dream drops it, after a beat and the rope falls into the snow so hot it melts right through to the grass. The hunter approaches him again, holding out his palms. They looked awful, all red and blotchy. 

“Your palms should look like mine George, only special gloves can remove that rope without your hands burning to crisps.” 

“I didn’t-I really didn’t know,” 

“I’m not stupid,” Dream says, “How long have you know you could do that?” 

“I didn’t,” George backpedaled, sinking down into the snow. Dream only advanced on him, his eyes trained on him squarely, his hair flopping wildly against the wind. His shoulder was bleeding profusely. 

“You’re tricking me,” Dream shakes his head, disappointment clear on his features and George didn’t know why, he felt sorry, so sorry he had done anything at all. 

“I-I’m not, I swear I didn’t know,” 

Dream gets closer, so close, “You’re lying George!” he stumbles, and George holds out his cuffed hands, landing in the center of Dream’s chest, holding him ay bay. 

“I don’t know how to do that!” George yells back, anger at being called a liar bubbling up in his chest, “I don’t know how to do magic!” He clutches his fingers in the fabric of Dream’s coat and pushes hard, shoving the hunter into the snow. Dream’s eyes widen. 

“I’ve used magic once to save Sapnap! Once!” George is screaming now his hands flailing wildly, the chains clinking against each other. “I didn’t even know I had magic, that I could do that why would I know if I could break a stupid rope!” 

“George,” Dream whispers. 

“And now I’m dead, I’m so freaking dead and I’m scared and all I wanted to do was help, I just wanted to help!” 

“George, I’m-” 

“What!” George snaps, his eyes falling back onto Dream only to see his pupils blown, one hand clutching his shoulders, eyes scared and wide. And then he fell back into the snow, motionless and silent. 


	2. The Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George nurses Dream back to health and some secrets are revealed.

George looked out at the vast snow-covered valley. It was dead winter, the worst time of the white season, the snow was deep and the weather was unbending. His hands shook slightly, the wind rustling around him and he pulled the collar of Dream’s coat up around his neck in defense. He found a nice clear patch of snow at an oak tree base and dropped to his knees, scooping it quite liberally into the nice wooden bowls usually reserved for their meals. Once he was satisfied with the little snow mountains, he made his way back in the thick constant snowfall to Dream inside their cave. He was quite lucky that he had collapsed right outside a cave system, considering with the loss of their horse he had to drag Dream’s lifeless body a good bit. But the relief at finding a cave so close, shelter from the snow, was an amazing upturn and took one less burden off his shoulders. 

He had been taking care of Dream for three days, alone and scared shitless. Dream had never raised his voice at him and that initial shock mixed with him collapsing from blood loss was enough to scare anyone. After that everything seemed like a blur. He needed to find Dream cover, and when he was lucky enough to stumble upon a cave, he didn’t even bother checking it before he ran back to Dream, dragging him to safety. He set the hunter up in his cot, trying to arrange him in a comfortable position, and then he tended to his injuries. The obvious was his shoulder, and George took care of that immediately. Pulling the hunter’s shirt off and blushing profusely at his toned abdomen. He adjusted Dream on the cot and carefully poured melted snow over the wound, cleaning it from the dirty iron of the arrowhead. He rummaged through Dream’s pack, not feeling the least bit guilty and thanking his luck that he found some gauze. He went about quickly wrapping Dream’s shoulder quite tightly, hoping it would help stop the bleeding. It was actually quite hard doing it all with the cuffs still on but he managed the best he could. He was rather heavy, just dead weight but with the leverage of the cot, George was about to shift him around. It was here as George laid him back down, fully bandaged where he could see Dream’s restful features. His face sharp and jawline cutting, blending perfectly into his toned olive-skinned chest. George did notice, close up now, tiny marks and scars probably nicks of a sword as he learned the craft growing up. Other than that, George had deduced that Dream was perfect, a perfect specimen, he couldn’t compete. 

On the second day, George woke to find Dream burning hot, radiating the most sickly kind of heat. A fever, George knew and his mind panicked completely. He ran outside to collect an abundance of snow and he packed it over the eternity of Dream’s body, thin cloth between his skin and the frozen liquid. And George waited, nail-biting minutes passing as he sat beside Dream, fingers in those golden locks, adjusting the snow or feeling the temperature of his skin. His head felt heavy in George’s lap like the hunter’s whole life hung in the balance of whether George could cool him down or not. But it felt like it, so George cried, from the stress of it all, he cursed his magic, he cursed that day he flaunted it to save his friend and he cursed how he cared about his captor's life so much it brought tears to his eyes. The salty drops landed on Dream’s forehead, George wiped them quickly away, “Please pull through, I can’t-I don’t know what I’d do all on my own,” 

Slowly, Dream did. His skin cooled, the snow dripping down his sides and wetting the cot and when George cleaned him up, looking to replace the snow blanket for the fifth time he noticed the temperature change. He was wiping Dream’s naked torso down, giving him a much-needed cool downtime waiting for his skin to heat again before he applied the ice but it never broke the threshold. And George _waited_ , one hand splayed between his pecs, the other placed on his forehead “Don’t pick up, come on Dream,” he murmured to himself, hoping, pleading, and after a good couple minutes his skin returned to its normal temperature, matching George’s own as the sorcerer felt no difference between his palm and Dream’s body. “Thank God,” George let out a breath, a smile donning his features, “Thank You Thank You Thank You,” he repeated running his fingers over Dream’s torso, confirming the loss of his fever, he couldn’t help but sit back on his heels, staring into the heavens and feeling the relief as it washed fully over him. It had been the hardest day George had ever experienced, sitting and waiting, worrying over Dream’s fate and feeling so helpless. 

On day three, George relished in the sense of normalcy again, going back to tending Dream's shoulder and a raised bump on the back of his head he had noticed that morning. It must have happened when Dream passed out so he took about nursing that too, packing snow into cloth squares and icing it. And that's exactly what he did when he got back. Dream was just as he left him, nestled into his cot, sleeping soundly. George approached him warily, like always, in case he woke up and decided to strike. When he got close enough he sat cross-legged at the top of Dream’s cot and brought his head to rest in his lap, one hand holding the makeshift ice pack on the back of his head, and the other resting gently on his forehead, always checking now for a normal body temperature. 

In these three days that he'd been alone with an unconscious Dream, he had grown quite fond of him. He changed his bandages two to three times a day to keep the wound clean and reduce the bleeding. He also catered to his head, icing it on and off every couple of hours, which is what he was doing now. George swiped his fingers across Dream’s forehead, tossing a couple of stray, damp, blonde hairs off his face. He brought the ice back to rest on the hunter’s forehead, adjusting the links between his cuffs so they missed Dream's face. His skin was hot and George feared his fever would spike again, and although the bleeding had stopped, Dream hadn’t eaten or drank anything for three days and that’s the biggest stall in his recovery. He sighed, big and heavy, looking down at Dream’s peaceful features, captured by sleep. He was really very pretty, George noted, heavy tones in his facial features should make him intimidating but here, his head in George’s lap he looked sad, like a fallen angel. The corners of his mouth turned just slightly downward, his nose wrinkling as he exhaled little puffs of breath. His hair, a little damp with sweat looked golden at times, especially against the dying firelight and it was just a lot all at once. 

George knew it was too much to take in right now, too many feelings swirling inside his stomach so he cups both hands under Dream’s head and lowers it slowly back down onto his cot. He moved swiftly away, deciding to stoke the fire rather than deal with those feelings. He felt rather pathetic without Dream to set up camp. He didn’t know how to get dry firewood with the winter storm raging on and so the wood he did get he got in big quantities (which took a lot of energy) because it didn’t burn for very long, and he was cold even in Dream’s coat and he worried because he wanted to make sure Dream was warm, but not too warm for fear of spiking his fever. Everything though, his poor camping skills, the raging winter storm, the food rations, his nursing abilities, Dream’s lack of nutrients, his constant worrying, all led to one thing. Eventually, he would have to wake Dream up, pull him from his sated stupor, and make him eat. It was something he had been thinking about for the past couple of hours, every time he ate himself, or warmed up by the fire, or held Dream’s head in his hands. And he couldn’t let his own fears of what Dream might say when he woke up keep George from nursing him back to full health. 

George felt a lump in his throat, heavy and thick. He didn’t want to cry, he had to be strong, but he worried. He worried that Dream would be disappointed in him, that the moment he woke he would drag them from the cave, drag him straight to Techno’s castle, and condemn him forever. He was scared that the fondness he found sometimes lingering in Dream’s eyes late at night by the fire would be gone forever, replaced by the cold calloused killer he assumed Technoblade raised him to be. And tears welled up in his eyes as he dressed Dream’s wound one more time, trudged through the snow and collected another ice pack, and held Dream’s head gently, poised perfectly in his lap. He feared for what would happen when he woke up, but he couldn’t keep him asleep so he shifted slightly so that Dream’s head fell back onto the cot gently. He quickly made a bowl of food, the rest of the beef tips, and some berries George had found on his walks. He positioned himself on his knees above the hunter, both hands on his shoulders and he shook. 

* * *

The darkness swam away from Dream, pulling him to the surface and he heard voices in his mind, “Dream, Dream,” George’s muffled whisper came rather close to his ear. Dream shoved him away, groaning, he wanted to be pulled back down, away from the pain. “Dream,” he sounded again, “I know you hate me but you have to wake up,” 

Dream cracked open an eye, blinking against the stale darkness. George was crouched over him, hands carefully shaking him awake. They made eye contact and the smaller boy immediately retracted, scooting back and almost bumping into the poorly made fire. Dream sat up slowly, his vision blurring slightly. 

George clears his throat awkwardly across from him, “You need to eat,” he points down at the platter he’s prepared for Dream, beef tips, berries, and some melted snow, “It’s been three days,” 

Dream blinks at him, _three days? He’s been out for three days?_ “What?” he croaks, his voice catching in his throat and he doubled over caught in a coughing fit. He struggled to catch his breath, the pain in his shoulder was unbearable. 

“You need to drink, and-and eat,” came Geroge’s tentative voice again and Dream swung his head in the small boy’s direction. George looked scared and tired. His eyes held huge dark circles and his hands were still shaking, always shaking. He noticed that his hair stuck up wildly, and his skin seemed much paler but his chin, always his chin was tucked close inside the collar of Dream’s coat, almost like a comfort mechanism. 

“Dream?” George questioned, his eyes darting from the food and back to him. 

Dream shook his head, “I’ve been out for three days?” 

“Yes, I um-I had to wake you, you need to eat or your fever will spike again,” 

“My fever?” his hand flew to his forehead, filling the dampness of his skin. He wondered vaguely why he felt hot, his hands roaming his chest until he felt the gauze. He pulled the collar of his shirt down to find clean, fresh bandages wrapped around his arrow wound. “You did this?” he asks pointedly, still a bit confused. 

George nodded, “Can you eat please,” 

Dream signs, “If I eat will you tell me what happened these past three days? From the moment I collapsed to now?” 

“Yes,” George answers, and it’s a plea. Dream folds, reaching for the beef and taking a small bite. He felt quite nauseated but he assumed it was from not eating for a long while. He drinks some of the melted snow as well, trying to keep his stomach at bay. When he’s finished he looks back up to George, waiting. 

* * *

George told Dream all of it. How he found a cave and dragged Dream through the snow and into the stone shelter. He told him how he nursed his shoulder and the welt on his head. He mentioned how scary his fever was on the second day but how he adapted the snow into ice packs and how that had helped. He apologized for his poor camping skills and for rummaging through Dream’s bag, but that he only took the gauze and some food. 

“And then,” George continues, his gaze bouncing from Dream, to the dying fire, and back to Dream, “I felt your forehead and it was warm, I-I really didn’t want your fever to spike again, I barely got it down last time so, I woke you up,” he points to his bowl, “So you can eat,” 

Dream nodded slowly, sitting back like he was taking it all in. George tried to decipher his expression, look for any signs of hatred or malice, and he waited for the ball to drop. But nothing came, in fact, Dream started to laugh. Well, he started to wheeze more like it. George watched in awe as he threw his head back, and he laughed, and coughed, and winced in pain, and then he laughed some more. George was thoroughly perplexed, but he found himself happy, albeit confused, that he was laughing and not yelling. 

“George!” Dream threw out, coughing and cackling around his name. He looked wild as he waved his hands around, “You could have left me, bleeding and wounded out in the wilderness!” he points out towards the opening of the cave, and George follows his fingers seeing the thick flurries of the winter snowstorm pile up outside. “If I didn’t bleed out,” Dream continues, “I would have certainly died from the cold, you would have been free George! Completely and utterly free, yet here you are,” Dream looks him up and down like he can’t believe he’s still here, sitting across from him. George shifts uncomfortably under the hunter’s gaze, did Dream not want to be saved? What was George supposed to do? Leave him for dead? 

“You would have died,” George mumbles like it was obvious. If he hadn’t dragged Dream to safety, nursed his wounds and fever he would have died. George couldn’t just let someone die if he could save them if they had a _chance_. 

“Yeah!” Dream throws his hands in the air, an incredulous grin on his face, “Yeah that’s the point.” 

George shakes his head, “I don’t get-” 

Dream holds up his hands, stopping him, “I don’t get _you_ quite frankly,” he crinkles his brow, staring him down, “Do you just not use magic? Is that like your ploy?” 

George sniffles, his eyes low, “Well I-I don’t know how,” 

“Yeah,” he sighs, heavyset frown lines cutting his perfect features, “You already said that,” 

“Well, it’s true,” George didn’t like this conversation, he didn’t understand. He shifts again, feeling incredibly hot so close to the fire, his chains clink against each other, and Dream laughs. 

“You tended to me in your chains?” he asks, a stupid grin on his face. 

George narrows his eyes, “Well, I can’t take them off,” 

“Come here,” Dream calls. George raises a septical brow, Dream just repeats himself, “Come here George,” 

Hesitantly, he shuffles over landing on his knees in front of Dream. The hunter reaches behind him for his pack, digging for a while before he finds what he’s looking for, a small golden key. He brings both Georges wrists to rest on his lap, palms up and he shoves the key into the sides of the iron cuffs. They both click open, and Dream pulls the cuffs open wider, expelling George’s wrists. 

He picks up the cuffs and deposits them back in his pack, he looks back up to George, thumbs ghosting over the remaining bruises on his pale skin, “I trust you won’t leave, and you can do magic through them anyways, even if you claim you don’t know how,” 

“I don’t,” he protested, but it’s weak, and lost in the proximity. George watches how Dream’s fingers make circles on his wrists, dusting over the ugly, blemished skin. 

“You need to ice your wrists,” Dream remarks absentmindedly. George nods. They shift slightly and Dream grabs the ice pack George had made earlier. His long fingers wrap around both of George’s wrists and pull them together snugly, the other brings the ice pack to rest on top of his hands, over the bruises. George wants to flinch away, but it offers almost immediate relief, the cold numbing the constant ache. He becomes fully aware now of the contrast in temperature, the frigid ice pack on the top of his wrist, and Dream’s warm hand cradling the bottoms. He doesn’t look away, knowing how close Dream’s face was to his and it felt forbidden. It was one thing being this close to Dream when he was unconscious and another when he was awake and gently tending to his injury. 

Silence settled between them and Dream’s fingers flinched, “Can I ask you something?” he whispers, bated breath hanging between them. George looks up, suddenly realizing how close they were, their noses nearly touching. 

“Yes,” George nods, his heart hammering in his chest, the proximity swimming in waves around them. Dream scoots back a tad, still firmly holding George’s wrists between his but now positioned so he could see his face clearly. 

“You mentioned, before I passed out something about a person named Sapnap,” Dream watches him closely, George bites on his lip. In a heavy rage George remembered ranting about his old friend, just letting it all out but it was so close to Dream losing consciousness he thought the hunter wouldn’t remember, but apparently he had. Dream drops his gaze back to his wrists, “I’m just trying to understand the full story,” he ends, his words falling off and George wanted to help. Because in all honesty Sapnap was a big part of his story, and maybe telling Dream would make him understand. 

“Nick, is his real name,” George starts sucking in a breath, “Sapnap just a silly childhood nickname but it stuck,” he chuckles lightly, remembering the painting of the panda that inspired his name, “He was my best friend, we grew up alongside each other in the castle.” George swoops his head up, making eye contact with Dream who seemed to be listening earnestly, “Our parents sold us to Technoblade as servants, we worked for free and in exchange, our parents would get some sort of compensation. Anyways,” he shut his eyes, holding the tears at bay, all those memories flooding back and the loss of them feeling so surreal, “that really doesn’t matter I um-I didn’t know I was a sorcerer or had powers I guess but surprisingly I used them one day out in the courtyard. Sap loved to scale the outside of the castle and one day he got a little too high. I told him to come down, I did but of course because he’s Sapnap he didn’t listen to me.” George shook his head, Dream’s eyes steady, it kept him on task, “He fell, essentially and I don’t know what happened but I wanted to save him, and I did.” he shrugged his shoulders, “Just like with the rope, I wanted it untied and so it was. I just pointed my hands at him and when I opened my eyes Sap was safely sitting on the ground, unharmed.”

Dream interrupts him, the grip on his wrists tightening slightly, “That’s all,” he asks, his mouth hanging open, his tone slightly surprised. 

George stares at him bewildered, “I guess, I don’t know I just remember saving Sapnap and then Techno was yelling and ordering the guards to put me in the dungeon and if it wasn’t for Nick I would have rotted down there, he’s the one that set me free,” George sniffles, finally letting the tears fall, unabashed. “I guess that doesn’t matter much anymore,” 

The silence engulfs them again, heavy emotions clouding George's mind and the gears turning so fast in Dreams that his head hurt. George shivers and Dream breaks the silence, “How much sleep have you gotten?” he whispers, puffs of breath landing on the back of George’s cheek. He thinks back to how restless these past few nights have been. He had felt so utterly alone, and the nights were the worst knowing if anyone came, if anything happened he would have to deal with it by himself and he just didn’t have enough strength. He felt now, exhausted. 

“Not a lot,” he chuckles slightly, relief flooding him as he realizes that Dream was finally awake and he didn’t have to be here alone anymore.

Dream squeezes his wrist slightly, “You should sleep,” he stands taking away the ice pack and all of Georges warmth, “while I’m awake at least,” 

“Yeah,” He blinks sleepily, Dream’s soothing touches may have done a number on him. 

“Take my cot, it’s preferable,” Dream steps out of the way, opening up the blankets for him. George wants to protest but his eyelids are so heavy, so he doesn’t. He crawls into Dream’s cot and practically collapses. He hadn’t honestly noticed how much energy he had exhausted tending to Dream, but he felt dead on his feet. His eyes closed before his head even hit the pillow, pulling him into a much-needed restful night’s sleep.

* * *

Dream felt weird, warm slightly, as he replayed holding George’s hands in his own. He had to touch him, in some way. There was no distinction anymore in Dream’s mind, George doesn’t possess the power Techno speaks of in his letter, he wasn’t evil, or malicious, or trying to trap Dream. He was just a boy, like himself, consumed by a label. He knew quite easily that George was more powerful than most, and being powerful in a dying resource was enough to scare anyone, even a king who hated the government. The easiest thing for George to do was leave him to die in that forest but the fact that he didn’t, and on top of that nursed him back to almost full health, and was even worried about him pushed all the negative thoughts about George out of his mind. 

Dream understood what it was like to be labeled wrong. He wasn’t a killer but he was the best in his class, the best of Techno’s knights, the best fighter anyone had ever seen and so overtime he became a slave to the crown. Seeking out and killing anyone who might threaten Techno’s reign, from the wayward warrior to the powerful councilmen. But George, _George,_ wasn’t either of those, he was in an entirely different class. George had childhood friends who would die for him, and if he was being honest Dream knew about the servant program. He didn’t want to break it to George but his parents, nor his friend's parents were getting paid. Techno didn’t care about the people, he cared about power and feeding off poor districts like the meadows and sucking their homes dry taking poor kids like George and Sapnap from their homes and back to the castle for his own personal gain. The truth is George’s parents are probably dead, and if he had any siblings they were gone too because Techno had Dream wipe these places clean after he took his pick from the litter and it wasn’t until now that Dream was facing the consequences. 

He chanced a look at George’s sleeping form. He looked so tired, dark half-crescent bags under his eyes told Dream he hadn’t gotten more than an hour or two of sleep a night. It reminded him of when they first met when he first trapped George and he wasn’t sleeping at all opting to cry over his fate. That had been a different version of George, one that a much happier, full of life, George had replaced. It hurt Dream somewhere deep down to know that George had reverted back and that and _he_ had caused it. 

Dream had never felt so _attached_ in all of his years as a bounty hunter. He had never been so invested in a bounty. Some part of him knew it stemmed from his job, protecting George at all cost. It was different from any other previous job and in fact, Dream had little interaction with people in the outside world. For the better part of his teenage years, he’d been a hunter, a slave to Techno and his cause, always on the road. He didn’t even have a home. But George had bought him a routine, conversations (even if they were one-sided), and companionship. As messed up as it was. 

He pulled his attention away from his prisoner and back to the dying embers of the fire. George really was a shit camper, it made him smile ever so slightly to know that maybe George was surviving now because of him. _Fuck,_ he chucked. He was in deep...and they needed more firewood. Dream grabbed his sack, heaving it onto his good shoulder with a groan. It would be painful doing work like this so soon but they needed the warmth of the fire, so he headed out into the storm. 

* * *

George woke up incredibly warm. It was a nice change from the past few shivering nights. He cracked an eye open, studying the mouth of the cave. It was pitch black, the middle of the night maybe judging by how dark it was. He also noticed the burning fire, far brighter and bigger than he had seen in days. 

“I got firewood, you’re a shit camper,” Dream chuckles, drawing George's attention. He was sitting quite close to him, stoking the fire. George noticed the skinned rabbit cooking on top. Did Dream go hunting on his injured shoulder? 

George blinks sleepily, “How’s your shoulder?” 

“Oh,” Dream reaches a hand to tentatively touch at his wound, “It’s fine,” 

George shakes his head. He was afraid only slightly of Dream overdoing it when he woke up. If he knew anything about the hunter in the short time he’s known him it was that he wouldn’t be able to sit still, probably too scared of his own thoughts. He crawls out of the cot and makes his way over Dream in front of the fire, sitting quite comfortably beside him, “Is it really?” 

Dream bites his lip, rolling his shoulder slightly, George notes the wince. “It’s a bit sore,” 

“Because you overdid it,” George gestured to the fire and the freshly caught food. 

Dream narrows his eyes, “We didn’t have anything,” 

“I was managing,” 

“You weren’t taking care of yourself,” 

“You needed to be taken care of,” 

Dream stares at George, something indiscernible in his gaze, “You were practically dead on your feet George,” he retorts. George stares back but eventually breaks the contact, looking off towards the fire. 

Eventually, he shrugs, “I’m a prisoner, I don’t deserve much,” and those words rang true in his ears. If anyone deserved to live it was Dream, one of the king’s guards. He was practically royalty and what was George? Just a criminal. 

Dream sighed, loud and heavy like he was letting all the air out of his lungs. George thought he was going to refute him but he didn’t, he just changed the subject. “Will you redress my wound?” 

He sighs, “Yeah,” 

George was right, Dream’s excessive movement had reopened the mostly healed wound, and he scolded him lightly. 

“You’re bleeding again, I had it stopped,” 

Dream chuckled, throwing the rest of his shirt over his head, “Just stop it again,” 

George didn’t laugh, struck with the realization that Dream was shirtless in front of him, and he was actually conscious. It was still a shock every time he saw his skin just because of how personal it was. He stalled for a moment, suddenly very aware of Dream’s wary eyes trained on him. 

A calloused hand came to rest lightly on his forearm, squeezing slightly. “George?” 

“Yes, right...” He blinks, pushing the proximity far from his mind he reaches around Dream and grabs the gauze, placing it between them. This wasn’t the time nor the place for George’s wayward thoughts, he just needed to push all that away. His hands searched for the end of the bandage, roaming Dream’s tan skin for a beat before he found it just under his armpit. He wrapped his fingers around the peeling end and started to undress it. 

Dream watched him, green eyes dark in the dim light, George’s fingers gently ghosting over his skin. The remaining bandage is pulled off and George examines the wound. His finger drags along the deep hole. Dream backs away, his eyes squeezing shut. 

His hands retreat hastily, “Sorry, sorry,” 

“It’s alright,” Dream nods, taking a deep breath he leans back into George’s touch. It hurt him, to know that Dream was hurting but he did overdo it and it needed to be tended to. He continues cautiously, deeply cleaning the wound, trying to be gentler this time, wetting a cloth square and slowly dabbing the blood away. The bleeding George realized was from over-use, just as he suspected. Once it was clean much to George’s liking he wrapped it rather tightly. He was thankful the arrow didn’t go that deep but still Dream needed to be careful as a wound like this could take a full month to heal completely. 

George pulled the last strip tight around his upper chest, “You need to be more careful, no heavy lifting for a couple of weeks at least, doctors orders,” 

Dream sucks in a breath, the wrapping putting uncomfortable pressure on his wound, “Doctor’s orders huh?” 

“Yes,” George lifts Dream’s arm, flatting his hand on the end of the bandage under his armpit, making sure it sticks. “There,” he runs his hands quickly over Dream’s chest, over the bandaged area before he drops them into his lap. 

He still can’t make eye-contact with Dream and his naked torso but the hunter doesn't seem to care, jutting his thumb under George’s chin and jerking his head up, forcing eye contact. Dream smiles wildly and it’s probably the most emotion George had ever seen on the man’s perfect face. 

“Thank you, George,” he moves his hand, swiping a gentle thumb across George’s cheek and then dropping his hand altogether. “For saving me, I seriously wouldn’t have survived without you,” 

George knew he was blushing, just the close proximity was enough to make his cheeks red but those kind words are enough to make his stomach erupt in butterflies. “Um, you’re welcome,” he ends up spluttering, he honestly didn’t agree with Dream but he just wanted the moment to be over. 

“We should eat,” Dream backs away, replacing his presence with cold air, it makes him shutter. George wraps his arms around himself, digging his chin into the collar of Dream’s coat, it was a comforting action. His coat smells faintly of pine and leather, and the bundles of wool on the inside of the collar tickle his nose. He thought of how happy he was that Dream was up and moving, something he had feared before now gave him so much relief. He knew he should help lessen the load on Dream’s shoulder but the quiet relief of Dream bringing him his bowl of food and sitting wordlessly beside him was something he just wanted to bask in. 

“We’ll probably need to stay here for a few more days,” Dream recounts, “If that’s okay with you?” 

George nods, “Yeah of course,” and it’s an unspoken stall between them. Unspoken because of their forbidden destination, a place which George feared and Dream was beginning to question. But Dream needed to rest and George was in no rush to speed up their journey, as far away as they were. 

The rest of the night was peaceful until Dream insisted George take his cot, and he protested profusely. 

“It’s your cot Dream,” George shook his head, reaching for his own battered cot Dream had yet to set up. 

“No,” Dream snatches the cot from him, admitting a groan as the action tugs at his wound, “You had no problem sleeping in my cot those other nights,” 

George frowns, his voice small, “That was different, we were out in the cold” 

“It’s no different George,” he shakes his head, stepping around the smaller man and laying out the other cot, “I say I want you to sleep in my cot and that’s final,” he pauses for a beat, rolling out the thin blanket and scrunching his eyes at the pain, then he sighs, his shoulders rolling, “you run the criminal and captor narrative so much you think you’d listen to my orders,” 

George sucks in a breath, his heart stalling. _Fuck. That Hurt._ The mood shifted instantly, he felt the reality of something he had been pushing deep down while Dream was immobile but now, the dynamic was back. He turned swiftly, tears pooling in his eyes at the sheer shock of the conversation, and his heart beating unfathomably fast. 

“George?” Dream whispers, his voice wavering slightly. “I’m sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” he answers, small words barely reaching the tip of his tongue. 

“It’s not,” Dream retaliates, and he’s closer now, he’d crossed the fire and over onto George’s side. George lays down, turning away, tears spilling over as he hides his face in Dream’s coat, pulling the covers up to his chin. “George,” he beckons quietly like he’s whispering a secret. He tentatively lays a hand on George’s shoulder. 

George wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, “It’s really okay,” he manages to get out, but his voice is thick and tear-laden, and it makes Dream squeeze his shoulder tighter, pulling him backward and facing him completely. Dream looked sad, George noted. 

“I’m sorry, George, it shouldn’t have been said,” he rolls his shoulders, wincing when it sticks slightly, “I’m in a lot of pain and I acted out of place,” Dream reaches his hand out, cupping George’s cheek. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly, something he did George noticed a lot now when his thoughts got away from him. It was silent for a moment, and George found himself a little embarrassed but still relishing in the heat against his face, as the hunter's thumb gently hooked under the occasional stray tear and wiped it away. But then his hand was gone, as quick as it came, retreating back to his side, but his eyes bright and forgiving never left George’s. 

“I know our dynamic has been different from the start, at least for me,” Dream ran a hand through his hair, tucking the wooly strands behind his ear. “I’m aware of our dynamic, as I’m sure you are as well, but-but you saved my life,” he wrinkled his brow, a seriousness stealing his expression. “I won’t forget that George, and that might change the tone because I let you out of your handcuffs, or because I let you bandage me up but you could have killed me and you didn’t, you could have run away and you didn’t, you could have done a number of things to escape,” Dream chuckles slightly, George’s mouth turns into a frown, this really wasn’t funny, “yet,” he continues, “your number one priority was to keep me alive, and I just-I don’t,” he stopped short, his eyes pulling from George and focusing on his hands, clawing at each other in his lap. George waits for the end of the sentence, watching Dream’s incredibly beautiful features crinkle in pain but it never comes.

Instead, he reaches out again his fingers ghosting over George’s cheek, almost like he was memorizing his features, making sure he was real. George laid still, his breath coming out in quick spurts as Dream’s fingers roamed his skin, thumbing his eyebrow or barely touching his lips. 

Finally, he sighs, his hand stills just below his chin and then drops altogether, “I am in your debt George, I know that,” Dream smiles slightly, his head tilting before he rocks back on his heels and stands fully, “You should get some sleep,” he nods curtly, and then retreats back to his side. George was perplexed, to say the least, he didn’t even know where to begin. He supposed in some way maybe Dream did owe him, but in another sense how was George supposed to let him _die,_ all alone, out in the snow. It seemed inhumane, regardless of their dynamic. 

George let out a shaky breath, turning onto his side, again finding himself leaning into the embrace of Dream’s coat, and now his blankets. Whatever Dream felt was his to figure out, George felt quite certain saving him was the right thing to do and if that action resulted in Dream _owing_ him then maybe it wasn’t so bad. So he did just what Dream asked, and got some sleep, no more worrying or stressing because Dream the great bounty hunter was in his debt. 

* * *

Dream slept to push away the pain in his shoulder, to push away the humiliation that he had yelled at George, and the ultimate realization that he owed that little sorcerer his entire life. And much to say with all of that swirling around in his mind at once he couldn’t get much sleep. He awoke again, pretty early judging by the mouth of the cave and his shoulder hurt like hell. It was stiff and he groaned as he stretched it out, this next month was going to be hell. He sat up slowly, George’s thin blanket sliding down to his lap, the fire was out now, the ashes dark and George, George was nowhere to be found. 

_Shit._ Dream scrambles up quick, pain shooting up his forearm and straight to his wound, “Ah fuck,” he grabs his shoulder, “careful, careful,” he breathes. He steps cautiously, biding the pain, stumbling blindly out into the cold. 

“George!” he calls, his feet sticking into the snow as he goes, the white flurries blinding in the morning sun. He probably looked crazy, one arm clutching his wound and the other covering his eyes, bed head, and rumpled clothes alike. “George!” he called louder, stopping himself and looking for tracks in the snow, _God he couldn’t have gotten far. Why did Dream trust him? Why did he take off his cuffs? Why-_

“Dream?” a tentative voice, just a whisper. Dream turns his head swiftly to a path about two inches lower than the rest of the ground. George stood, a few feet away, struggling with the woodpile in his arms. His cheeks were flushed, his nose bright red from the cold, he looked angelic almost, flurries sticking in a matted mess to his soft brown hair. 

“Sorry,” he huffs out, suddenly self-conscious about his appearance. “I thought-” his sentence stalls, he takes a new direction, “I was looking for you,” 

George’s head turns slightly, his brows crinkling, “You thought I ran?” 

“No!” he shakes his head, approaching him, “No, I just woke up, and you were gone, I was worried,” he reaches out swiftly and takes half the wood, bearing it in his good arm. 

“You’ll hurt your shoulder,” George protests, but it’s weak and he could already see the relief on George’s face. 

“It’s okay,” Dream smiles, taking the wood for George, ignoring the throbbing pain. The sorcerer eyed him up and down, not so sure, a skeptical look still plaguing his features. But eventually, he lets Dream slide, his eyes returning to the worn-down path, as they follow Dream’s crazed footsteps back to camp. 

“You were worried about me?” George asks, tentatively like he’s tasting the air around his words, “And not at all scared that I ran out on you,” 

“Well,” Dream stalls, because maybe he can’t lie to George, it just felt wrong, “So maybe I was a little scared, just-” he gestures his hurt arm between them, wincing at its rapid movement, “this is new territory to me, I’m just-”

“Ah I get it,” George nods, and Dream can see his features turn negative ever so slightly, as they enter the cave, “you don’t trust me,” 

Dream shakes his head dropping the wood on the ground in a huff, “It’s definitely not that, I think you earned my trust wanted or not when you didn’t leave me to die,” he kneels down, waiting patiently as George begins to hand him logs, “It’s more like I can’t figure you out, I never really know what your next move is,” he starts to assemble the fire, his thoughts seeming a lot clearer now said out loud. Because it wasn’t so much that he didn’t trust George it was that this man kept surprising him at every turn, every time Dream analyzed his movements against what he knew about other degenerates George was different every single time. And the conclusion that he was different was something Dream had already realized but the aftermath, the dealing with new territory, scared him. 

George giggled slightly, Dream blinked his hands freezing and his head snapping towards that foreign sound. Dream watched as George stared at him in wonder, disbelief in his eyes, “I’m not a criminal mastermind Dream, I was getting firewood,” 

Dream smiles, his heartwarming at seeing George smile, and surprisingly _laughing_. His stomach flips, a new but not unwelcome feeling, “Well maybe I’m overthinking it,” 

“I think so,” George is still smiling, wide, little spurts of laughter erupting from his mouth. Dream couldn’t believe it. He wanted to keep it up, live in this happy mood forever. So he focused on the fire, stacking the logs oh-so-slowly and he dragged it on. 

“So you’re not some powerful sorcerer, just nursing me back to health only to strike me down later?” Dream shoots George a crooked smile, and he erupts in laughter this time much more high pitched. 

“No!” George covers his mouth, handing Dream the last piece of wood, “I’m practically useless like I couldn’t even heal you with magic, if I could you’d be all better,” 

Dream stifles a laugh, his heart growing fonder, “That so?” 

“Uh-huh,” George takes a seat beside him, handing Dream the flint and steel. “If only so I didn’t have to bandage you like four times a day,” 

“Oh,” Dream smiles down at the flat piece of metal as he begins to spark it, “I didn’t think you minded that bit,” 

“I-” George stops short, his head turning far away from Dream and somehow he knew he was blushing. It was incredibly endearing, and maybe that’s why Dream teased him like this. But George surprised him yet again, turning back in a flash and giving the shyest of smiles. 

“No, because you stink,” he fires back, “Like-like fish, like a stinky fish,” and this time it was Dream’s turn to laugh. He doubled over, one hand clutching his shoulder as it ached with every wheeze and the other clutching George’s arm for support. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” George’s hands come up to support his back, his right hand carefully cradling his wound. 

“Stinky fish!” Dream practically yells, fully astonished. “You-you, that’s all you could think of?” 

“Seriously Dream,” George pulled him closer, xeroxing his movements. 

“Oh man,” he huffs out a breath, calming himself and letting George slow his shaking body. “That-that was funny,” 

“Yeah,” George frowns, “I can see, just-don’t hurt yourself,” 

“I”m alright George,” Dream stills, a reminisce of a smile on his face, George’s warm hands guarding his shoulders, hovering over his wound. It did ache terribly now that his high was gone, and shit he felt it sting, warm liquid against his skin, “Maybe-maybe you should bandage me up again?” 

George’s eyes widen, he lets out a breath of disbelief, and then his hands are off of Dream and skating under his shirt and lifting the cloth high enough to take a look at the bandage. “Dream…” he trails off, eyes meeting the red-soaked bandage, his finger prodding the outer rim. 

“I told you to be more careful,” George frowns at him, his head tilting in disappointment. “You tore it open again,” he sighs, and Dream feels like a scolded child enduring the full wrath of their angry mother. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling the sting of the matted cloth as George begins to unwrap it, throwing the battered bandages into the fire. He looks down at his wound, as George inspects it thoroughly, it was open again and bleeding likely the result of his constant training. 

George ghosts his fingers around the tear, poking slightly, “It hurts,” Dream confesses, “Like a lot,” 

The sorcerer nods, his left hand sliding down to cup Dream’s bicep, rubbing up and down in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry, I-I know, and I meant what I said,” he squeezes slightly, a shiver runs down Dream’s spine, heat radiating from his touch, “If I could magically heal you, I would,” 

Dream smiles, despite the pain, the offer sweet despite its non-existent follow through, “Really regretting not hunting down an actual sorcerer,” 

The brunette chuckles, “Hmm, I bet,” 

George patches him up in silence, his little comforting touches aiding in helping ward off the pain, or so Dream would like to think. He often wondered as George's hand wandered carefully over his torso, what his actual crime was? When his fingers ghosted so lightly over Dream’s skin, his eyes focused and his forehead creased in concentration. I mean what crime against the crown does _this_ George do. Dream can’t imagine George harming or threatening anyone much less _doing_ those things to Technoblade. It was the vaguest crime descriptions he had ever gotten but he was never prevailed upon to ask, never had any reason to. It was something he thought about often, and as the days passed more often than not. 

They passed slowly, the days, almost lazily. George didn’t let Dream do anything, which meant low fires and berries for meals but Dream saw that he was trying, and it was more endearing than annoying so he let it slide. His shoulder thankfully was healing day by day thanks to George’s nursing skills, but the week was up and Dream needed some type of antibiotic, and more bandages. 

“I can go,” Dream pulls on his shirt, George just finishing wrapping him up, using the very last bit of the roll. 

“I’m going with you,” George stands following Dream’s movements as he packs his bag. “I’m not staying here,” 

Dream shakes his head, back still turned, “It’s not safe,” 

“And leaving me here is?” he argues. Dream stills, his hands caught around the straps of his pack. He turns around, catching George in a furry by the fire, his hands still clenching the empty bandage roll, his head tilted in disbelief. This was going to be hard. 

“Yes,” Dream nodded, “No one knows we’re here, and we’ve been here for almost two weeks. It’s the safest place for you,” 

“I-I can’t believe it!” George kicks at the ground, his feet scuffing up a tiny dust cloud. “You’re just going to leave me here,” 

“Yes,” Dream keeps his composure, pushing down the guilt. “George, what if another bounty hunter attack happens? What are we to do then?” Dream tilts his head, “Huh? I can’t protect you out there, so it’s safer for you to stay here,” 

George frowns, mulling over Dream’s words before he steps forward, eyes big and bright, “I don’t want you to leave me, I don’t want to be alone,” 

Dream felt his heart constrict, “George,” he brings a hand up to rest on the shorter boys shoulder, “I’m not leaving forever, you should know that I’ll be gone a day, two at the most, and then I’ll be back,” 

“Dream,” George dragged out his name begging, pleading but Dream knew George would be safe here in the cave. He would have food and water and Dream’s cot, he would be safe and that was the first thing on Dream’s mind. “You’re sick,” George tries, reaching his hand up and flattening it against Dream’s forehead, “Your fever,” 

Dream smiles at the gesture, he brings his hand over George’s and gently pulls it away, holding it between his own, “It’s fine George, I feel fine,” 

George’s features flicker, his hand twitching trapped between Dream’s, and he slowly pulls away, fidgeting on his feet, “You owe me,” he breaths out, his voice tiny, a pause between the words and a cold expression on his face, “and I don’t want to be alone,”

Dream steps back, the brashness of the tiny boy scaring him a little. “This...this is your life-saving favor?” 

Dream watches as George breaks, his demeanor wavering and Dream could tell it was more than just a favor, it was a plea, a tiny boy begging to finally not be alone after all these years and he couldn’t stand it. “If I can go with you, then yes,” George breathes, trying to smooth out his features, but his mouth turns into a frown anyways. 

Dream sighs, this was one of the trivial times where their dynamic smacked him in the face. As much as he wanted to order George to stay, to go back and forth with him until he caved he just knew the ending and he knew it because George pulled stunts like this. “Don’t do this George,”

“What?” he throws up his arms, stepping closer, “That’s how I want to use it,” 

“It’s not worthy of that,” Dream shakes his head, “and you know it,” 

George’s mouth slacks, “So?” 

“George,” Dream says, his voice low, he couldn’t let George waste a favor like this and he did suppose the safest place for George was right by his side. “You can come with me,” he turned and pulled his eyes away from George’s burning gaze, “but you keep your favor,” 

“Really?” George breathes, his excitement palpable. Dream nodded, his back hunched over and his hands working quickly to pack supplies. 

“Yes,” Dream repeats. George steps up tentatively beside him. 

“Let me help,” he brings his hands to rest over Dream’s own, stopping their rapid movement. “You can roll up our beds, I’ll pack the bags,” Dream stills, and in a jerk movement flips his hands in George’s, lacing together their fingers quickly and squeezing softly. It was just as he imagined, the tiny man's hands were soft against his own rough calloused skin. 

He feels, rather than hears George suck in a gasp, “You’re not mad at me are you?” comes his tiny voice, tentative. Always so tentative around Dream when he’s nervous. 

“No,” Dream stares at their hands, the contrast between his olive-colored skin and the brunette’s almost ghostly pale hand is jarring. Was it bad he wanted to mar it? Probably. “No, I’m not mad, I get that you don’t want to be alone George, but you have me now,” 

“I know,” comes his response, and it seems so certain Dream’s heart clenches around the promise it makes. 

Dream squeezes his delicate fingers once more before he lets them go, “Okay, I’m going to get the packs,” he starts off towards the fire, his hand restless at his side and he flexes his fingers, they tingle from the slight contact. Dream feared for the first time of something _more._


End file.
